It Doesn't Mean Anything
by WaitingformyRedCaboose
Summary: It began as a not-so-innocent encounter. Now, everyone's favorite brick truck is tangled in a coach's life in ways he never imagined. Rando pairing, light smut. Content may be disturbing for some readers.
1. Chapter 1

_"It Doesn't Mean Anything."_

 _by Waiting for my Red Caboose_

* * *

It was a breezy day at the train yard, as Duvay sat by the canyon crying silent tears. She wasn't sweet, like Dinah. She wasn't gorgeous, like Pearl. She couldn't even keep a boxcar interested. Instead, she just pulled her knees up to her chest and stared into the ether.

She heard two voices approaching around the corner. As they neared, she recognized said voices as belonging to Flat-Top and Dustin. They halted as they caught sight of her, and she heard Dustin (very loudly) whisper, "Is she crying?"

Flat-Top brusquely hushed him. "You head on back to the freight yard. I'll catch up."

Dustin wheeled away, and Flat-Top remained, standing silently by the large pile of rocks that made up the corner they had come around. Duvay hastily wiped the tears from her eyes and got to her wheels. Well, this was embarrassing. Flat-Top watched her warily, leaning against the rocks. As she stood, he glanced away quickly, trying to look as if he hadn't been staring. He shoved his hands into his pockets, and glared resolutely out over the canyon.

"Take a picture," Duvay snapped, "it'll last longer."

"I've as much a right to look at the scenery as you do, sweetheart," he retorted in his deliciously cockney accent.

Duvay rolled her eyes, but they were quickly refilling with tears. _He_ used to call her sweetheart…

"I'm not your sweetheart."

Flat-Top scoffed shortly. "Whatever you say."

He continued to very carefully not look at her, but sidled over slightly, making room next to him on the rock he was leaning against.

The sleeper car bit her lip and awkwardly skated over to stand by Flat-Top.

"It's pretty, isn't it?" she offered, looking out at the sun setting over the canyon.

He shifted his gaze towards her. "Yeah...sure is…"

Duvay didn't notice him looking her. "Why are you here, Flat-Top?" She asked. "Why didn't you run off like Dustin or Rocky-" She caught herself, but it was too late. Her cheeks turned red.

Flat-Top shrugged, looking back towards the canyon. "Someone's gotta make sure you get back to the yard in one piece."

She folded her arms across her chest. "And what makes you think I can't do that myself?"

The brick truck rolled his eyes. "I was trying to be nice. Dinah was wailing about you being broken-hearted and goin' over the canyon." He awkwardly scratched at the back of his ear. "She sent me and Dustin to make sure that didn't happen, and Dustin doesn't have the stomach for this sort of thing." He gestured vaguely at Duvay. "Cryin', I mean."

"What does she think I'm going to do, crash myself?" she huffed. "I don't need a babysitter."

"You go back and tell her that. I'll stay here and avoid the tantrum."

"Why don't you just go and leave me alone?" Duvay snapped. She skated back over to the canyon and stared across it as silent tears began to fall down her face again.

Pushing off from the rock, Flat-Top skated after her, hands still jammed in his pockets. He stood about an arm's length away, diagonally behind her. Moments passed as she continued to cry, and she felt something brush her shoulder. Looking, she saw Flat-Top's hand extended towards her, holding a clean, white handkerchief that was barely brushing her shoulder. She reluctantly took it and dried her eyes, then returned to studying the tracks that ran through the bottom of the canyon. The brick truck retracted his arm, but remained standing almost uncomfortably close, eyes locked on her.

"Don't jump. I don't want to have to go down there and gather the scraps."

Duvay looked at him, shocked. "What is _wrong_ with you?"

He shrugged. "I've heard a couple suggestions."

"Oh yeah?" She turned to face him fully. "Well, here's another one." She shoved his handkerchief back at him. "I don't want you here, I didn't ask you to be here, and now you're being mean to me, so why don't you go back to your pals Dustin and Dinah?" She didn't seem to realize that she was stepping dangerously close to the edge as she continued. "You obviously don't care about me or my feelings, or what happens to me, so- ah!" One of her wheels slipped backwards off the edge.

Flat-Top lurched forward, quickly catching ahold of her wrist and yanking her back onto solid ground. The sudden transition of momentum carried her forwards into his chest. He took a step backwards to steady the impact, one hand still closed around her wrist, having somewhat pinned her arm between them when they collided, the other hand braced on the side of her shoulder.

Duvay had a glassy look in her eye. She was able to stay upright for a moment before collapsing forward, onto Flat-Top's chest, shaking like crazy.

He supported her upright for a moment, lifting her wrist in his hand upwards so as to drape her arm around his shoulders. His other arm wound around her waist, and he gently lifted her against him momentarily as he sank to the ground and sat (as dudes do) with his feet flat on the ground and his knees bent. He set her down in front of him, sort of between his legs, supporting her weight against his chest, gently rubbing her lower back in an attempt at comfort as she sobbed.

The force with which Duvay gripped Flat-Top's plating in her fists was almost certainly going to leave dents. If she didn't slow down her breathing soon, she was going to pass out. Her vision was already going dark around the edges.

"Hey, hey, breathe," Flat-Top chided, continuing to rub her back. "You're fine. I gotcha. Just breathe."

Soon, Duvay had climbed completely into Flat-Top's lap and was curled up like a little baby.

She finally caught her breath and was able to speak. "Thank you."

One of his arms was wrapped tightly around her waist, the other around her back with his hand gently cradling the back of her head. "It's no problem."

Duvay gently pulled away. "We should be heading back, I guess…"

He shrugged, dropping his arms and bracing his hands on the ground, leaning his weight back. "If you want."

"I...yeah," she replied, but didn't move. She sat just where she was in his lap, studying him intently.

Flat-Top also remained silent, studying her.

"Rocky broke up with me…" She confessed, her voice cracking as she once again returned to the reason she'd run to the canyon in the first place.

The brick truck blinked, surprised. "Broke up wi-" He laughed a single, humorless bark. "What a piece of shit. He didn't even mention he was dating anyone."

If words could kill, that would have been the final blow. Duvay completely deflated, staring at the ground. Had he really been that ashamed of her? She didn't know whether to be sad or angry...or resigned.

"I don't know why I expected any different."

Flat-Top shrugged. "Like I said, he's a piece of shit."

Duvay's anger was quickly winning out. "I don't know why I bother. No one cares. Maybe I _should_ just jump off the edge of the canyon. I doubt anyone would even notice I was gone." She stood up and started pacing. The tears in her eyes turned hot and angry.

Flat-Top also rose to his feet, carefully positioning himself between her and the canyon.

"Don't look at me like that," she hissed at him.

He held up his hands in surrender. "You're the one talking about killing themselves over a boxcar, not me."

"I'm not talking about killing myself over a boxcar!" Duvay protested, becoming more hysterical by the second. "I'm talking about killing myself because...because why not, huh? My own boyfriend wouldn't even acknowledge my existence. You're only here because of Dinah!" She laughed bitterly. "You would just walk away and go on with your life."

He glared at her. "You think I'd be here if I didn't want to be? Come on. You've been around long enough to know no one can make me do shit I don't wanna do." He took a step towards her, continuing his rant. "And as for why not? Why the hell _would_ you? Cause some dumb Rocky doesn't know enough to show you off and parade you around like the prize you are? Anyone with any sense would be proud to-" He cut off abruptly, dropping his gaze to the ground and stuffing his hands in his pockets once again. "What I mean is…you're a good girl, Duvay. And...people see that...and Rocky's not worth another thought."

The sleeper car dropped the defensive stance she had unintentionally taken when Flat-Top stepped towards her. Instead, she jumped forward and threw her arms around him, sobbing loudly and unashamedly. "I'm so sorry."

He tensed in surprise, holding his arms in the awkward 'wtf random surprise hug. Wat do?' stance.

"Sorry for what?" he asked. "You didn't do anything."

"No I shouldn't have been so stupid. I just-"

At this point, his arms had settled around her waist. "Hey." He raised one hand to her chin, using two curled fingers to tilt her face up so he could better meet her eyes. "Relax, okay? You didn't do anything. It's fine."

"Well, maybe I just need a hug," she whimpered.

He rolled his eyes, dropping her chin, and curled both his arms around her waist. He pulled her tightly against him, lifting her slightly off the ground for a moment.

Duvay was still more than a little shaken from her brush with death, but the hug was nice. She felt safe. She would have liked for it to have lasted much longer, but all too quickly she pulled away. "I kinda just want to sit here for a while. You don't have to stay, if you don't want to. I promise I won't…"

"Nah, I can stay. The canyon's nice at night."

Duvay walked away from the drop off and sat down with her back against the rocks. She sighed. "Why doesn't anyone stay with me? Is it me? Do I push people away? I know you haven't known me for that long, but you're brutally honest, so tell me, truly."

Sitting down next to her, he looked her up and down appraisingly. "You seem fine to me."

Duvay couldn't help but laugh a little bit. She instinctively reached out and took Flat-Top's hand in hers, but she immediately pulled back.

"Sorry," she mumbled, turning bright red. "Force of habit, I guess."

He hesitated briefly before scooting closer, leaving his hand evidently open and within reach. "Don't worry about it…"

Duvay looked at him, surprised. She slowly reached down and took his hand again, still watching his face.

It may have been a trick of the fading light, but she could've sworn she saw a tiny smile play at the corner of his mouth. Remaining silent, he gently closed his fingers over hers.

Something came over her. She wasn't sure what. She didn't even think about it, she just leaned over and kissed his cheek. He tensed, clearly surprised, but didn't protest, turning slightly to look at her. The sleeper car smiled shyly.

"Sorry if that was weird."

He chuckled softly. "I don't mind, just wasn't expecting it."

She blushed profusely, then kissed his cheek again, a little harder this time. She didn't know what she was doing. Was this wrong? It seemed like it should feel wrong, but it...didn't. Before she knew it, she was halfway into his lap again, nuzzling at his neck. Flat-Top slipped one arm down around her waist, lifting/sliding her properly into his lap so her knees were rested on either side of his hips. He rested his one arm around her hips, gently cupping her cheek with the other hand. He kissed her forehead, and then tilted her chin to rest his forehead against hers, meeting her eyes.

"I don't want you to do anything you wouldn't normally do, just 'cause you're hurting."

"It doesn't have to mean anything…" she said softly, pressing her body against his.

He inhaled, tensing against her. "If you're sure…"

She kissed his lips heatedly, grinding her hips against his. That little voice in her head was screaming, " _Duvay, what the fuck are you doing!?"_ But she didn't stop. She couldn't stop. Flat-Top's arm around her waist tightened, pulling her harshly against him. His other hand moved from her cheek to the base of her skull, cradling her head as his lips worked roughly against hers.

Duvay snaked her arm down between their bodies to release Flat-Top's pelvic plating. All inhibition was gone now. What did she have to lose? She kissed him passionately. She felt a little bad for using him like this...but she had told him it didn't mean anything, and he had agreed, hadn't he? She fought hard to quiet the little voice in her head. She didn't need this now, she could feel guilty later.

Once more, the brick truck hesitated. Pushing back slightly to break the contact between their mouths. He looked at her intently.

"Are you _certain_ you want this?"

A look of horror crossed the coach's face. "Oh, Starlight. You...don't, do you?"

Flat-Top shook his head quickly, a sharp laugh escaping. "I've wanted this since you first showed up in the yard."

She froze, staring at him in disbelief. "You what?"

He shrugged. "You're not exactly hard to look at."

She looked away, blushing, but still looking completely defeated. "You're just saying that…"

He rolled his eyes, rotating sideways away from the rocks they had been against and leaning back on his elbows so he could see her better. He let his gaze slowly trail up and down her body, bit his lip, and let out a low whistle (note: not a proper train whistle, because he's not an engine).

"Nah, not hard to look at at all."

Duvay laughed her first proper laugh of the evening and actually smiled. Still leaning back on his elbows, Flat-Top shifted his weight under her so he could reach one arm out and trail his fingers down her cheek and jawline.

"There, much better than crying," he said with a smile, his voice low and warm.

Duvay leaned down, placing her hands on either side of his body, and kissed him again; softly this time. He cupped her cheek in his hand, lips pulsing gently but firmly against hers.

The sleeper car broke the kiss. "You know," she whispered breathlessly, "you're not so hard to look at, either."

He laughed. "She's got a sense of humor, too. I like that."

"I'm not kidding."

He grinned wickedly. "Well, looking at me may not be hard, but d'you know what is?"

Duvay snorted. "Yeah, I'm sitting on your lap."

He laughed again. "Glad you'd noticed."

"Yeah, wouldn't it have been unfortunate, otherwise?"

"It really, really would've."

"But...here we are, so...good for you."

Once more he laughed, looking her up and down again. "Good for me indeed."

Duvay shook her head in disbelief. This truck...well, she didn't know what to think of this truck. But she knew she wanted him. That very instant. Again, she snaked one hand in between their bodies, this time wrapping her delicate fingers around his spike and stroking it gently, all while softly touching her lips to his...not a kiss...not quite.

Inhaling sharply and jerking slightly in surprise at the sudden contact, Flat-Top's hand that was on the ground balled into a fist, and Duvay felt him tense up under her. She could feel his lips moving against hers, not in a kiss, but as if he were speaking.

A mischievous smile played on her lips. "Something wrong, pumpkin?"

"Just caught me by surprise is all," he replied, his voice a low purr. He quickly darted his tongue out, brushing it against her lips. Duvay gasped lightly at the feel of his tongue on her lips. She removed her hand from his spike, wrapped both arms around his shoulders and ground against him, kissing him like her life depended on it.

He sat up, pulling her against him roughly with one arm, using the other to brace himself as he shifted and turned, placing her on the ground where he had just been. He braced both hands on the ground on either side of her, ducking down to bury his face in her neck, planting deep, almost frantic kisses.

Duvay moaned softly and closed her eyes. She placed her hand on the back of his head, lovingly petting his hair. "I need you."

Lips working against her neck and across her collarbone, he reached down between them, tugging her skirt up around her hips. He sharply shifted his hips forward against hers, guiding his spike into her.

The sleeper car gasped as he entered her, wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulders and clinging to him for dear life. Her breathing picked up as they found their rhythm.

With one arm still braced on the ground, and the other wrapped under and around her waist, Flat-Top pulled her roughly, even tighter against his hips. With a low growl, he began to thrust slower, deeper. Duvay's vision went blurry, and she had to remind herself to breathe. This would not be a convenient time to pass out. She moaned breathlessly, gripping the plating on Flat-Top's back in her fists with bruising force.

He groaned, his breath becoming ragged as he moved against her, quickening his pace. His fingers gripped tightly in the dirt and on her waist.

"Starlight!" Duvay cried out as she suddenly climaxed, tensing then relaxing, breathing heavily.

Her release pushed Flat-Top over the edge, his voice breaking somewhere between a cry and a groan as he came. Pulling back, he collapsed into the dust next to her, panting.

Duvay stared up at the stars in the dusky sky. "What just happened…?"

He let out a short, breathless laugh. "Correct me if I'm wrong, little lady, but I believe that was a consolation fuck."

She closed her eyes. "Oh, Starlight…"

The brick truck rolled onto his back, his breathing evening again. "It's Flat-Top, actually."

"I shouldn't have done that. I- and you-" she covered her face with her hands.

He groaned, sitting up and rubbing the heel of his palm against his forehead. "I should've known." Dropping his head back and looking up towards the sky, he muttered, "Flat-Top you fuckinidiot, 'go for it' never actually means 'go for it'."

Duvay sighed heavily. "No, I didn't mean...that. I mean…" She looked away. "I think I just used you."

Startled, he looked down at her, answering with a laugh. "Well, yeah. Didn't we already establish that before we started?"

"You deserve better than that." She slowly stood up and dusted herself off, tugging her skirt back down into place. "And now I feel even shittier than I did, before."

His gaze followed her as she stood. "I told you it's not a problem. You're right though, I certainly don't deserve the likes of you."

She looked at him, not sure what to say. " _Hold your shit together,"_ that little voice in her head said. " _You've caused enough trouble, like you always do."_

Flat-Top sighed, pushing himself to his feet and replacing his pelvic plating. "Relax, Duvay. It's fine." He clapped a hand on her shoulder. "I'm a big boy, I can take care of myself; you didn't take advantage of me."

"For what it's worth…" Duvay smiled awkwardly, still looking anywhere but at Flat-Top. "That was the best fuck I've had in a long time."

He chuckled, tapping his forehead in a mock salute. "I aim to please."

She turned to face him. "You deserve to find someone, Flat-Top. Someone...beautiful, and kind, and...untarnished. You'll treat her right, I know it." She looked at the ground. "I should be getting back to my station."

He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself. He looked down, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I guess I should head back to the freight yard…"

"Thank you for…" Duvay laughed in spite of herself. "For everything."

Flat-Top shrugged. "Glad to be of service."

Duvay stood silently for far too long, trying to figure out the best way to say goodbye. Should she hug him? Kiss him? Or maybe she had done enough damage.

"Um...goodnight," she whispered and started to skate back towards the train yard.

The brick truck stood, watching her skate away. "Goodnight, Duvay…" he mumbled, watching her retreating figure a while longer before heading towards the station shared by the freight trucks.


	2. Chapter 2

It was late afternoon when Flat-Top rolled up to Wrench's station with a massive dent in his shoulder plating on the right side.

"F-Flat-Top?"

He turned quickly at the sound of his name, eyebrows raising in surprise as he saw Duvay approaching.

"Duvay…"

"What happened to you?" She asked.

"What, this little thing?" He motioned to the massive dent that was forcing his metal shoulder forwards into an unnatural position. "Just had a little accident on this morning's haul. Y'know, bricks an' stuff." He grinned. "What about you?"

Her eyes widened, and she turned away. "Oh, I'm fine."

"I'd have to agree with you." He looked her up and down quizzically. "Not any reason to be visiting Wrench, though."

"I just need, um, to pick up some…" she cleared her throat. "Emergency contraceptive."

Flat-Top coughed awkwardly. "Oh. Right. Yeah, that makes sense."

Duvay forced a smile. "You should go ahead, though. I think you need the repairs more than I do."

"Isn't yours more...I dunno, time sensitive?"

"Um...yeah, I guess you're right."

He made a sweeping gesture towards the door of the station with his good arm. "After you."

Duvay nodded and skated inside.

Wrench had recently been fancying herself a 'formal doctor' and was currently holding visiting hours. Wrench greeted her from behind a makeshift desk made out of a stack of shipping crates.

"Ah...Duvay."

"Hi, Wrench," the sleeping car greeted her with a forced smile.

Flat-Top entered the station after Duvay, shutting the door behind him, and awkwardly sitting down in the corner on a worn out chair.

Wrench's eyes widened, taking in his bent up arm. "Uh...triage-wise, I think I should see him first. Unless you think you're bleeding internally or something…?"

Duvay bit her lip, not really sure what to say.

Flat-Top waved his good arm dismissively. "It's fine, let the lady go first. I can wait."

"I just need the morning after pill," Duvay said softly.

Wrench scoffed. "Well, I sure hope I have any left. I live with Electra and four other components, remember? Give me a minute." She stepped through a door in the back, leaving Duvay staring wide-eyed after her.

Flat-Top remained in the corner, trying not to laugh. "Those electrics sure are something, huh?"

The little coach looked at him in disbelief. "You think this is funny?"

"Not your predicament, no."

"Starlight Express," Duvay whimpered. "I can't believe I did this. I have never been this reckless." She began to pace with her arms crossed protectively in front of her.

Flat-Top sat motionless, watching her pace, concern thinly masked on his face. After a moment, he spoke, his voice low to avoid carrying into the next room.

"I'm sorry. I should've had more...I dunno, restraint or something."

Duvay chuckled bitterly. "No, this is great. I get dumped, and less than forty-eight hours later, I might be pregnant with someone else's child." Her laugh got a little more hysterical. "Starlight Express." She covered her mouth with her hand and the tears began to fall.

"Hey, hey." Flat-Top got up and moved towards her, hesitantly placing his hand on her shoulder in an attempt at comfort, wincing as he moved his arm. "None of that. Everything's gonna be fine."

The door opened and Wrench walked back in. "You're lucky Volta got her period about twenty minutes ago. And so, we bequeath this to you." She handed Duvay a small box and motioned for Flat-Top to return to his chair, and once he was seated, she instructed him to take off his shirt. It took a bit of effort, working to get it around his severely bent up shoulder, but once he did, Wrench continued her examination.

Like all trains, Flat-Top had been born entirely organic; made of bone and flesh, with a fire burning in place of a heart. As time went on, and more damage was done, this organic matter was replaced with metal and machinery. In Flat-Top's case, his left leg and hip, and the upper right third of his torso, along with his right arm, were entirely metal.

While repairing the brick truck's shoulder, Wrench addressed Duvay. "So, who'd you fuck?"

Duvay glanced at Flat-Top, but immediately looked away, hoping to keep their little secret. Unfortunately, Wrench noticed.

She scoffed. "You two?" She openly laughed, and went back to working on Flat-Top's shoulder, using a small wrench to remove the bolts connecting his mangled, metal arm to the anchoring socket in his organic chest.

"Got a little rough, did you?" she teased. " _And_ unprotected. You kids are just out of control."

Flat-Top laughed. "Nah, this little bump is from Rocky."

"Hm," Wrench mumbled, dropping the last bolt into a small bowl and maneuvering the warped metal away from her patient's chest, leaving him armless, and missing a good chunk of torso. "I'll have to have a little talk with...which one?"

"Four."

Duvay looked at the floor. Wrench just looked confused. "Hey, Duvay, weren't you and...ohhh." She turned back to Flat-Top. "Did he deck you for fucking his girl?"

"I'm not his girl," Duvay snapped. "...Anymore. I'm not."

"And he dropped a load of bricks on me, not decked me," Flat-Top amended.

Wrench sighed, working on fixing the detached metal limb in her lap. "I probably should have known." She nodded at Duvay. "He left a pretty similar mark on her, a few weeks ago-"

"Wrench!" Duvay cried, her voice cracking.

Flat-Top surged to his feet, his remaining fist balled tightly. "WHAT?"

Duvay flinched...okay, maybe it was more of a full on jump and stumble backwards. She steadied herself on Wrench's desk.

"Whoa, whoa," Wrench reprimanded, stepping between them. "Duvay, there's really no reason you need to stay."

The little coach nodded and swiftly exited the station.

Wrench turned back to Flat-Top. "Sit down."

Seething, he sank back into his seat, fist clenched so tightly his knuckles were turning white.

"He hurt her," the brick truck hissed. "He actually hurt her. I'll fucking kill him."

Wrench sighed again. Doctor-patient confidentiality be damned. She was just a repair truck.

"Flat-Top. Duvay's a tough girl; she hit him right back. But...over the past few months, I've been seeing her...geez, once a week? At least? You...be careful with her."

Flat-Top laughed bitterly. "As if I'd even have the chance to mistreat her. She'll probably never even look at me again."

"I don't mean that," Wrench said. "I'm not actually worried about her. I'm more worried about you."

Confused and a little startled, Flat-Top looked sharply up at the repair truck. "Me?!"

She nodded, still paying more attention to the arm in her lap than the body previously attached to it. "Little fucked up, that one. Sweet girl. I mean, sweet, sweet girl. But she's had it rough. She's got some major issues."

He shrugged, immediately regretting it as pain coursed through his side. "I don't see what that's got to do with me."

Wrench smirked. "Given the way you reacted just a minute ago…" she let out a low whistle.

He sighed, defeated, and stared at the floor in subdued silence for a while before muttering. "I'm gonna kill that box car."

"Did he do this on purpose?" the repair truck asked, beginning to reattach the arm, as she had finished bending it back into shape and fixing the inner workings.

He moved the uninjured shoulder to shrug. "Yeah? I mean, I yelled at him for...you know...hurting her? And things got a bit…" He chuckled. "Rough."

Wrench rolled her eyes. "You should be fully functional again, but you're gonna be in a lot of pain for a while. I'm gonna get you some pain meds." She disappeared through the door in the back and quickly returned, holding two pill bottles in one hand, and a glass of water in the other.

"These-" she held out the bottle, "-are just your ordinary, run of the mill painkillers. They aren't gonna do shit right now. These-" she offered Flat-Top the other bottle, "-are gonna do shit. But they're also gonna make you high as hell, so be careful."

"Got it, thanks doc." He accepted both bottles, and tucked them in his pocket. He stood, and departed, heading back to his station.


	3. Chapter 3

Duvay was in her station, trying to get Flat-Top out of her head. So they'd had sex the night before, and then run into each other that afternoon, and she had possibly waited too long to get the morning after pill, and he'd been hurt by her crazy ex...okay, so there were plenty of reasons to be thinking about him. The problem was that none of those were the reason that she actually was thinking about him.

She'd said 'it doesn't have to mean anything', and he'd agreed. So why did it feel like it meant something?

Suddenly, there was a very loud and sloppy knock on the door. She moved to answer it, then froze. Anyone could be on the other side of that door.

"Who is it?"

A collection of not-quite-words in a muffled and incoherent cockney accent greeted her.

"Flat-Top? Is that you?" She didn't wait for a reply before opening the door.

The instant the door opened, Flat-Top - with his suddenly amazing lack of depth perception - shoved the palm of his hand into her face.

"First off," he stated, slightly slurred but very sure of himself, "you're fucking gorgeous."

Ah yes, the very truck she just couldn't get out of her head. Duvay gently took hold of Flat-Top's wrist and removed his hand from her face.

"Flat-Top, are you drunk?" she asked, looking more sad than anything else.

He shook his head morosely, unskillfully shifting his hand/wrist around in her grip till they were rather clumsily holding hands.

"Lots of pain." He rattled the bottle of painkillers in his other hand.

"And just how many of those did you take?" Duvay took the bottle out of his hand and read the instructions.

He paused, then shrugged, inspiring a rather ominous crunch and grinding noise from his damaged shoulder. "A few."

She frowned. "You can't feel any pain, can you?"

He held up his hand, pinching his fingers together so they were about a half an inch apart. "Just a smidge."

Duvay didn't hesitate to let him into her station. "Why don't you sit down?" she suggested. "I'll get you some water."

Flat-Top nodded, drifting towards the living room type portion of Duvay's station, not letting go of her hand.

The sleeper car smiled and tried not to laugh. "I can't get you water if you don't let me go, you know."

He paused, looking down at her hand, still clasped tightly in his. "Oh." There was another long pause, and he let go.

Duvay skated over to her small kitchen and filled a glass with water. She brought it back over to Flat-Top, watching him with concern. He remained where she had left him, standing awkwardly in the middle of her station. He was looking around the room slowly, slight awe on his face.

Duvay presented him with the glass of water. "Is everything okay?"

His gaze drifted down to her, and a slow smile crept across his face. Seemingly not noticing the glass of water, he stepped closer to her, slipping his arms under hers and around her waist, clasping his hands at the small of her back. "It smells nice in here."

"Okay." Duvay awkwardly leaned around to place the glass of water on an end table. "That's there, when you want it." She placed her hands on Flat-Top's chest, not pushing him away, but creating a barrier. The brick truck continued staring at her, a small, lazy smile - more of a smirk, really - still on his lips. His arms rested comfortably around her waist, not quite pulling her against him, but definitely solid.

"Why don't you sit down?" Duvay suggested again.

He nodded. "That's a good idea." He dropped his arms from her waist, and turned towards the couch, pausing to turn back towards her and take her hand again. "Come on." He moved towards the couch and sat down roughly, gripping her hand tightly in his. Duvay fell onto the couch next to Flat-Top.

She reached over and grabbed the cup of water off the end table. "Drink, okay? It'll help you."

Grumbling slightly, he accepted the water. After drinking it and putting the cup back down, he angled himself sideways on the couch facing her, and clasped her hand in both of his. He leaned forward, a serious look on his face. "Duvay I need to tell you something."

"Oookay."

He stared at her very intently. "I-I have to tell you something."

"I know. What is it?"

He shuffled closer on the couch, pulling on her hand so she had to lean closer. He put his mouth right up by her ear and whispered very loudly. "I didn't get hurt with bricks."

Duvay tensed up. Starlight, why...and _how_ did he do this to her? Something about being that close again...  
"Oh?" she whispered shakily. "How did you get hurt, then?"

He shuffled again, pressing against her side, fidgeting with her hand clasped between his. "Wi-with ROCKS." He started giggling.

Duvay smiled in spite of herself. "Oh Starlight, you're so high," she chuckled. "Why don't we put you to bed, and you'll feel better in the morning? You can stay here. It's okay."

He grinned, releasing her hand and clumsily slipping his arms around her waist, hugging her sideways against him. "Beds are nice."

Duvay gently pushed him off. "Yeah, they are, especially when you need to sleep, so let's get you tucked in."

He whispered loudly, "You know what rhymes with tuck?"

"I'm gonna go with 'truck,' like you." Duvay stood up and tried to pull Flat-Top up off the couch.

He turned to face forward, catching ahold of her wrists and pulling so she had to bend close to his face. "I was gonna say 'fuck', but you're right. Yours is better." He let out a huffy exhalation. "Starlight, Duvay, you're so...good!"

"Thank you. Now, really, you need sleep." Duvay tried again to pull him off the couch.

He whined, immobile. "I don't want to sleep."

"You'll feel better, if you sleep. Would you rather sleep on the couch? I can get you a pillow." This time, Duvay just tried to wriggle out of his grip.

"I'd rather sleep with you." He released her to make finger guns, giggling.

Duvay smiled weakly. "You just need to go to sleep, okay? Let me get you a pillow." She made her way over to the small closet in the corner.

He remained on the couch, staring at his hands as he continued to make finger guns. She laughed, returning, and gently placed a pillow and blanket in his lap.

He looked up at her with wide, pathetic puppy eyes. "I feel weird."

"I bet you do," Duvay cooed. She took the pillow back and placed in behind him, then began unfolding the blanket. "Do you know why you feel weird?"

"Well..." he began slowly, turning and reclining on the couch, watching her intently. "There's this really pretty coach...and she won't stop flirting with me."

Duvay laid the blanket over him and sat down on the edge of the couch. "Oh yeah? Who?"

He rolled onto his side, wiggling closer so he could curl around her like a bizarre, drunken question mark. "Her name's Ducky." He started giggling again, and grabbed ahold of the back of her skirt. "She's, like, hella pretty."

"Ducky, huh?" Duvay tried (and failed) to pry his hand off her skirt. "I see. She must be very pretty to catch the attention of a truck like you."

He waved his other hand dismissively, still gently pulling at her skirt. "I'm like, such a slut. But she's so pretty oh my Starlight. Even if she DID look like a duck."

Duvay laughed so hard that she double over into his lap. "Flat-Top, you need to sleep."

"Ooh" he cooed happily at the sudden impact, wrapping his arms tightly around her and tugging her up so her head was on a level with his shoulder.

"Flat-Top," Duvay said softly, carefully removing his hand from her ass. "You need to let me go, so we can both get some sleep."

"Heyheyhey no!" he cried, softly but insistently. "We can sleep!" He wrapped both arms determinedly around her middle. "We can!"

Duvay sighed. "Okay, Flat-Top. Will you go to sleep, if I'm here?"

The brick truck nodded, still clinging tightly to her. "I will. I'll- I'll be good."

"Okay, go to sleep."

He nodded again, wiggling slightly under her. Duvay leaned her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, just pretending to sleep. In reality, her mind was racing. Mainly, she couldn't stop wishing he was sober, when he said all those things…

Mere moments passed, and he loudly whispered. "Duvay?"

"Yes, Flat-Top?"

"Feel my hand." He lifted said hand from her waist and splayed his fingers inches from her face.

Duvay placed the the palm of her hand in his. "Okay."

He laced their fingers together and squeezed, grinning.

Duvay smiled back. "What?"

He shook her hand in his. "I caught a duck."

"Go to sleep, Flat-Top."

"Go to sleep, Flat-Top," he repeated.

"Yeah, that's you. Close your eyes."

"If I do that, I can't look at YOU though!"

"Fine, then, look at me until you fall asleep."

As awkward as it felt to just stare into his eyes, Duvay was actually getting tired. Whatever it took to get him to fall asleep would be worth it, at this point. She was considering chloroform.

Flat-Top continued to stare at her, a small, lazy smile sitting in the corner of his mouth. He fidgeted with her hand in his, playing with her fingers. The coach smiled bitterly. Yeah, she reeeaally wished he was sober. She would kill for someone look at her like this sober.

Time went on, and Flat-Top began drifting from consciousness. He fell asleep heavily, his arm still wound tightly around her waist, compressing her against the side of his chest. Very carefully, Duvay began to work herself out of her trap. Flat-Top remained blissfully asleep and unaware, so the sleeper car stood up, took one last look at the sleeping truck on her couch, and went to her bed in the corner, to sleep herself.


	4. Chapter 4

It was not quite 3am when Flat-Top woke to the sensation of his arm falling off.

His arm wasn't ACTUALLY falling off, of course, it just felt like it should be. The pain meds had worn off, and he was in agony. He let out a low hiss of pain through gritted teeth as he sat up, looking around the dark, unfamiliar room in confusion. Where was he?

Duvay had always been a light sleeper, and the sound of Flat-Top shifting on the couch woke her up. It took her a moment to remember that she had a guest.

"Hey, you okay?"

The brick truck groaned wordlessly, clenching his teeth as he moved his shoulder. "Duvay...?" His voice was low and rumbly, still gritty from sleep, and tight from pain.

"...You don't remember jack shit, do you?"

He groaned again, gripping his upper arm with his opposite hand. "Where are we?"

"My station," Duvay told him, rolling out of bed. "You wandered over here last night."

"Oh Starlight." He grimaced. "I'm sorry. I was so doped up on those pain meds Wrench gave me..."

"I know. You brought them." Duvay grabbed the bottle off the counter. "Do you need more? I can take care of you. I also have some...you know, normal pain killers."

He chuckled, voice still rather rough. "I think something a bit less powerful would be better."

Duvay took some medication out of the cabinet, filled a glass with water, and brought the items to Flat-Top on the couch. "You poor thing. That can't feel good."

He smiled tightly, accepting the water and pain meds. "Thank you." He swallowed the pills and downed the water, cringing as the movement of his neck pulled on his shoulder.

Duvay cringed along with him. That shoulder really didn't look good. She reached out and cupped his face, brushing his cheek with her thumb. She caught herself and pulled her hands back into her lap. "So, you don't remember...anything? Anything at all?"

He tensed briefly at her touch, glancing sideways at her. "Not really, no..."

"That's some pretty powerful stuff, isn't it?" Duvay yawned.

He nodded, and stood, looking slightly unsteady on his feet. "I should get out of your hair..."

Duvay held her hands up, blocking his exit. "I really don't mind, and it's three in the morning; I'm not sure you should be walking back to the freight yard by yourself."

He blinked in surprise. "Three in the-...Starlight, did I just burst in here in the middle of the night?"

"You burst in here around eight thirty. I was awake, you were high, everything was okay."

He dragged his hand through his hair and then down his face, cringing. "I'm so sorry."

Duvay smiled. "I mean it. I don't mind you staying here tonight."

He paused, rubbing the back of his neck with his good hand. "I wouldn't want to impose...anymore than I already have, that is."

"You're not imposing," Duvay insisted. Then, she backed off a little bit. "But I don't want to hold you hostage or anything. I'd be happy to skate with you back to the freight yard."

He sighed, dropping his arm. "If you really don't mind...I probably shouldn't be moving around that much..."

"Of course not!" Duvay took a hold of his good arm and guided him back down onto the couch. She sat next to him. "So, um...what's the last thing you remember?"

"Uh...Wrench had me take pain meds...now I'm here."

"Oh..." Duvay said softly. That little voice in her head piped up again. _"Forget about it, Duvay. He doesn't really care about you or think you're beautiful or anything else he said. Only someone high as a kite would say that about you."_

"Yeah..." He half cringed, half smiled apologetically. "Sorry if I was...whatever."

Duvay giggled. "You were a little handsy, but nothing I couldn't handle."

"Oh Starlight." He cringed. "I'm really sorry."

"It's no big deal."

"You shoulda punched my lights out."

"Your lights were already out."

He laughed, the warmest, fullest laugh she'd ever heard come from him. "You coulda done some damage though. Gotten me offa you."

Duvay bit her lip. She didn't know what to say. She hadn't exactly _wanted_ him off of her.

He groaned, half laughing as he leaned heavily back on the couch. "Starlight. That piece of shit really did a number on me."

"He did that on purpose?"

Flat-Top grinned. Well, more bared his teeth. "Sure seemed on purpose. Though I guess I deserved it."

Duvay pulled her knees up onto the couch and faced him. "What happened, if I may ask?"

"Oh it was just a little disagreement, is all. Nothing compared to what I'm gonna do to him as soon as my head stops spinning."

Duvay scoffed. "Best to keep your disagreements to yourself, with him. I coulda warned you about that," she said casually, as if they were discussing the weather.

His face darkened. "See that's the problem."

"What's the problem?"

"He hurt you."

Duvay shifted. "I mean, yeah, but…"

He shook his head. "But nothing." Reaching out with his good arm, he patted her shoulder. "I don't want you to worry about it, it's fine."

Duvay looked confused. She changed the subject. "Are you tired?"

He nodded. "Yeah, you?"

"Yeah." She stood up. "I'll let you sleep. Just...shout if you need anything, okay?"

Flat-Top nodded again, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looked at her. "Thanks, Duvay."

"Don't mention it. Goodnight."

The next morning, he was already gone before she woke up, but a small bundle of daisies was left on the couch where he had been.


	5. Chapter 5

Afternoon arrived, and with it, the sound of a large crowd gathering in the freight yard. Duvay raced over and found Buffy. "What's going on?" she asked.

Buffy grabbed her arm, tugging her along as the crowd rushed toward the freight yard. "Come on, Duvay, there's a fight!"  
As they neared the freight yard, she caught a glimpse through the crowd of two figures, grappling on the ground. A circle formed around the two, and she realized that it was Flat-Top and Rocky 4. Both were rather brutalized; plating was dented, other parts had been torn off and thrown aside, clothes were ripped, skin was bloodied, bruises were forming, and fists were still flying. They grappled through the dust, and suddenly Flat-Top was on top of Rocky, with one knee braced against his throat. He wound back, fury flashing in his eyes, and began pummeling Rocky. Striking his face again and again. Duvay stared in disbelief. She couldn't even make sense of what she was seeing or feeling.

Rocky had stopped moving, and still Flat-Top continued, only stopping when the other Rockies darted out of the crowd and forcibly pulled him off their brother. They dragged him a few feet, and dropped him in the dust, rushing back to carry their unconscious brother away. The crowd began to disperse, now that the fight was over, Wrench flew to the unconscious Rocky's side, checking vital signs and other such things. A few of the others also remained to check on the combatants. Flat-Top lay on his back in the dirt, one leg splayed out, the other bent with his foot flat on the ground, and his arms dropped above his head. His breathing was rough and heavy, parts of his plating and clothes were either missing or ripped, and he was covered in blood, dirt, and oil. Duvay instinctively started after Rocky, but stopped and turned around.

"Flat-Top?" Starlight, he looked a mess. She raced over to him and skidded to her knees beside him. His eyes had been closed, but he opened one of them at the sound of her voice, squinting up at her and offering a pained smile before squeezing said eye shut again.

"Hey there, sweetheart," he said through labored breaths.

"What was that about!? Starlight Express, you..." She started getting choked up. "I don't know if he's okay..." She turned and looked towards where Wrench had taken Rocky.

"Oh he's fine." The first word came out as more of a groan than anything. "I'm not a murderer."

"Well, I sure hope not!" Duvay snapped. "What the hell were you thinking?"

Flat-Top laughed, but quickly stopped, grimacing as the action clearly hurt. "At first I was thinking how I was gonna make him pay. Then the thinking stopped and the hitting started."

"Pay for what?" Duvay cried exasperatedly. "For Starlight's sake, Flat-Top, I know you hate him, but-"

"He hurt you!" Flat-Top shouted, as he sat up, eyes flashing.

Duvay grabbed his shoulders to keep him from moving any more. "I was his girlfriend; for fuck's sake, it's not your job to avenge me!"

The brick truck winced at the contact, and gently plucked her hands off his shoulders. "You'll get blood on your hands."

"I don't care. What do you think I am, breakable?"  
That stupid little voice in her head piped up. " _You are breakable, stupid. You're already broken._ "

"No," he offered, gently putting her hands in her lap. "But blood and oil stains are tough to get out."

Duvay sighed. "Flat-Top, I...I think it's sweet that you want to look out for me, but I promise; it really wasn't a big deal."

He sighed, looking her in the eyes, dead serious. "Duvay. He used to hurt you, right? And I don't mean like, emotions, I mean he hit you."

Duvay looked away. "Yes, he did."

Flat-Top nodded curtly, wincing. He slowly sank onto his back again. "He's lucky I didn't kill him."

"You need to get over this, Flat-Top."

"Oh I'm over it now," he promised.

"Good." Duvay looked him up and down, looking more worried every second. "We need Wrench to see you," she mumbled. "Can you move?"

"Why, am I in the way?"

"Because you're hurt, dipshit," she grumbled.

Flat-Top chuckled carefully. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I'm resilient."

"You didn't answer my question. Can you skate?"

"I assume you mean right now, as opposed to in general?"

Duvay rolled her eyes. "Yes, right now."

Flat-Top groaned, every inch of him screaming in protest as he slowly rose to his feet. "If I gotta."

"If you can't, don't," Duvay begged. "You need someone to take care of you. Can I trust Dustin to do that?"

He laughed harshly, clearly in a great amount of pain. "Dustin couldn't take care of a cactus, and I'm a hell of a lot pricklier than those."

"I'll take you home again, then," the coach said as she took his arm in her hand. "...Okay?"

"Wh-no, it's fine. You don't need to take care of me."

"Someone does."

"I'm a big boy, Duvay. I can handle the consequences of my actions myself. You don't have to worry about me."

Duvay wanted to argue, but really, she had nothing. She gently brushed his cheek with the back of her hand. "You know where to find me. Don't hesitate. Okay? Promise?"

His eyes softened as he met her gaze, and he offered a strained smile. "Yeah okay, promise."  
The minute she let go of his arm, he became visibly less stable. As much as he denied it, it was obvious he was in no condition to be left alone.

The sleeper car put her hands on his shoulders again. "At least let me get you to your station. And I'll stay with you for a while - at least until we get Wrench to look at you." She winced. "Are you sure you don't want to come back to my station? I don't mind, I swear. I'm going to be nervous all night, if I leave you."

Duvay smiled, relieved (and slightly amused at this newfound power). "Do you need help skating? More help than me, I mean?"

He grimaced. "I can manage."

Despite his insistence that he was fine, he leaned rather heavily on her as they made their way to her station.

Once they were safely inside, Duvay spoke up, "I'm going to put you in bed. I can sleep on the couch. You need the support."

"Oh hell no. I may be an asshole, but I'm not gonna take your bed." He shook his head before continuing. "Besides. I'm covered in oil and blood, you don't want that on your sheets. Well, unless you're into that sort of thing." He winked at her.

Duvay smiled in amusement. "I'm going to clean you up first." She helped him into the kitchen area and sat him down at a stool. She then went to the sink and wet a rag. She skated back over and began to gently pat Flat-Top's face with the rag. He hissed as it came into contact with the many cuts and scrapes on his face. The poor boy was absolutely fucked up. Covered head to toe in dents, scratches, and bruises. Oil and blood had drenched his shirt and plating, which were also incredibly dented and ripped.

"You need a shower," Duvay sighed, "but that shit is gonna sting." She looked at him with the utmost sympathy. "You know, we're gonna have to disinfect these."

He grinned a pained yet cheeky grin. "You're just trying get me naked."

Duvay smirked. "If I agree, does that convince you to take a shower?"

"Only if you come in with me, sweetheart." He winked.

"Okay." Duvay backed up and offered her hand, raising an eyebrow.

His jaw momentarily dropped, then he started laughing. "You're not serious?"

Duvay put her hands on her hips. "I said I'd take care of you, didn't I? You need a shower, so I'll make sure you get one." She skated closer. "Unless you're shy."

He snickered. "You're just trying to remedy the fact that you didn't get to undress me before we fucked."

Duvay rolled her eyes, but her smile stayed firmly on her face. "Whatever gets you cleaned up, pumpkin."

"Fine. I'll shower by myself, but you gotta pay me back for being such a good patient."

"What did you have in mind?"

"You're a clever girl, you'll think of something." He winked again.  
The brick truck stood up from the stool he had been sitting on, unclipped his shoulder plating, and peeled his bloody shirt up off his body, providing Duvay with a rather close view of his bruised and bloodied (and very well muscled) torso. He slipped past his host, moving slowly towards the bathroom and tugging the shirt off his arms, resulting in an absolutely stunning view of his equally bruised, bloodied, and well muscled back.

Duvay didn't even pretend not to stare, following him to the bathroom and propping herself up in the doorway.

Flat-Top looked appraisingly at the shower and nodded, before turning to look at Duvay, wiping a trickle of blood off his lip with his thumb. "So uh...you just gonna stand there?"

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" she said with a mischievous smile.

He shook his head. "You have no shame, do you?"

Duvay's smile widened as she took a single step through the doorway. "Why should I? This is my station. We've already had sex." She paused. "...Plus, you're really hurt, and I'm a little afraid you're going to fall and hurt yourself worse."

At this, Flat-Top laughed outright. "Having you in there with me isn't gonna make me any less likely to fall.

Duvay rolled her eyes. "I'm just going to stand here. Look, I'll even turn around." She did so.

"I trust you about as far as I can throw you," he chuckled.  
There was a pause, and then she felt him step right up behind her, not quite touching her; unsettlingly close. His lips barely brushing her ear as he spoke, voice low and almost predatory. "Luckily, I can throw you pretty far. So there's nothing for me to worry about."

Duvay shuddered, hoping he didn't notice. Starlight, how did he do this to her?

He smirked, obviously having noticed, and clapped a hand on her shoulder. "Nothing to be afraid of, little duck. I won't throw you." He turned and began unbuckling the plating around his hips, then paused and grinned. "Well, not unless you ask nicely."

Duvay tensed up, entirely turned on and entirely terrified, still facing the empty doorway. "What are you doing? ...I- I don't like not being able to see you."

The brick truck chuckled. "Jeez, Duvay. I know I'm gorgeous, but have a little dignity."

Duvay crossed her arms in front of herself. She kept telling herself he wouldn't hurt her. He wouldn't hurt her.  
" _And how do you know?_ " the little voice said. " _Why wouldn't he?_ "

She heard the water turn on, the clunk of metal hitting the floor, and then the whoosh of the shower curtain closing.

She let out a breath, relieved, but mentally berating herself for acting like this.

"You alright out there, sweetheart?"

"Yes. You alright in there?

"Oh I'm just peachy. Literally. All your soap smells so fucking girly. All fruits and flowers. I've never even heard of some of these." He paused, holding up a bottle of body wash in confused disgust. "What the fuck is a persimmon?" he demanded incredulously.

Duvay laughed. "It's a weird fruit. Try it. You'll smell delicious."

"Sweetheart, I'm already delicious."

She smiled and shook her head. "Are you feeling okay? You lost a lot of blood, back there." The memory of seeing that fight stirred - of seeing Rocky's limp body carried away. Oh Starlight, he could be dead. Duvay stood frozen in place.

Despite his bravado, the pain was still evident in Flat-Top's voice, and he hissed as he began washing his wounds. "I'm fine. Never felt better."

"What were you thinking?" Duvay asked, her voice barely a whisper. There was no way he could have heard her. She felt tears welling in her eyes. She was...she was scared. So scared. It was partly from not knowing if Rocky was okay, but mostly because the truck behind her was capable of doing something like that.

Suddenly, there was a cry of agony from behind the curtain.

Duvay spun around. "Flat-Top!?"

A slew of curse words washed forth like an unbreakable tide, mixed intermittently with words such as 'soap', 'fruit', 'persimmons', and 'faaaaaaak'.

"Flat-Top, are you okay?"

"-in my fucking EYE!"

Duvay took a deep breath. "I'm sorry?"

"Fucking persimmons in my fucking EYE!"

She tried not to laugh. "Technically, you have persimmon scented soap in your eye. Not persimmons. You'll be fine, tough guy."

"Starlight fucking persimmons."

Duvay moved to sit on the counter top. This truck was really something else. An upsettingly well sculpted arm - covered in bruises and slightly pink soap suds - stuck out of the shower, around the edge of the curtain.

"Duvay, help me. I'm blind."

The sleeper car laughed, reaching out from where she was seated on the counter and taking a hold of the hand. "What do you want me to do?"

He closed his hand around hers. "Well, I wanted a towel, but this is nice too."

"Well, the water's still on, and you're still covered in soap, so maybe fix all that, and then I'll get you a towel."

"You're so demanding."  
He released her hand, and his arm disappeared back into the shower. There were rinsing noises, and then the water was shut off. Duvay hopped off the counter and grabbed a towel from the cabinet. She handed it through the curtain, and Flat-Top dried off, then wrapped the towel around his waist before shoving the curtain aside and stepping out of the shower.  
"Much better," he grumbled. "Now I'm in agony, and I smell like fruit."

"If you think you're in agony now, wait until we disinfect those wounds of yours," Duvay sighed, offering her hand.

Flat-Top cringed, and then accepted her hand. "Right. What's this for?"

"You said you were blind." Duvay winked, then led him back into the kitchen. She retrieved a bottle from under the sink. "It's hydrogen peroxide, so it shouldn't be TOO horrible."

He nodded, sitting down on the stool again and securing the towel around his waist. "Go for it."

Duvay poured the solution on a rag and pressed it against Flat-Top's cheek. She looked at him, trying to work out what she thought about him. He had been so kind and so gentle with her, but then her turned around and nearly beat the life out of another truck. "Can I trust you?"

He winced, gritting his teeth as the peroxide hissed against his skin. "What do you mean?"

"I just watched you beat the shit out of my ex-boyfriend."

"He deserved worse."

Duvay recoiled. "Flat-Top, stop it!"

"What? He was asking for it! First he hurt you in every way imaginable. Then when I brought up what a complete douche-canoe he is, he dropped a load of bricks on me like a coward!"

"You shouldn't have antagonized him!"

"Antag- Duvay. I said 'you could've handled things better with Duvay' and he dropped a ton of bricks on me. If anyone was antagonizing, it was him."

Duvay went back to cleaning Flat-Top's wounds, he expression helpless. "My relationships are none of your business, Flat-Top. He was a good boyfriend. Leave it alone."

"Good boyfriend?" Flat-Top demanded, outraged. "Duvay, he abused you!"

"Yes!" Duvay shouted, throwing her hands up in defeat. "He hit me, okay? That's just how it goes sometimes. That's my normal." Her voice became low and angry. "You don't know anything about me, Flat-Top. Stop trying to fix a situation you don't understand." Her voice cracked as the tears started falling. She steadied herself with one hand on the countertop, the other covering her mouth as she shook with tears.

All the frustration fell away from Flat-Top's voice. He spoke softly, full of concern. "Hey, hey, come on." He stood, moving to comfort her, but stopping short, only remembering to hang onto the towel at the last second. "I didn't mean to upset you, and I'm not trying to fix anything, really."  
He looked rather desperate, and frustration at his inability to help was evident on his face. "I'm not saying I know anything about you, cause I know I don't, but no one deserves abuse."

Duvay tried to wipe her tears away. "When you've been told otherwise your whole life, I guess it's hard for that to sink in."

"...Can I hug you, or will you kick my ass?"

"I think you can hug me," Duvay said quietly.

He quickly tucked the towel into itself so it would (barely) stay around his hips, and enveloped her into a massive bear hug. One arm looped around her waist, the other arm tucked under her arm and up her shoulders, hand gently braced on the back of her neck. He buried his face in the top of her head, and held her tightly.

Duvay was completely quiet, at that point. Numb, more like. Tears kept falling down her face, but she didn't move. She was barely even breathing. The brick truck just held tight, quietly murmuring "I'm sorry" into her hair.

"I need a moment," she mumbled, pulling away. She skated away and shut herself in the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She sat on the floor, with her knees pulled into her chest. " _Pull yourself together,_ " the voice told her. " _He needs you to take care of him_."

Flat-Top remained standing awkwardly where she'd left him, rather confused, but nonetheless berating himself for being such an ass. Duvay pulled herself up off the floor, dried her eyes, put a smile on her face, and emerged from the bathroom a completely different train. She had done this hundreds, if not thousands of times.

She turned to Flat-Top. "Okay, let's finally get you cleaned up."

He met her gaze, deep concern etched on his face. "I'm sorry."

"You didn't do anything," she said simply, skating over and pouring more peroxide on the old rag. She gently began to clean Flat-Top's shoulders and chest.

He tensed, muscles knotting under her hand. "I upset you.

"So? I'm a big girl. I'll get over it."

He grimaced, hissing through his teeth as she dabbed at a particularly nasty cut across the back of his shoulder. "Still, you were right. I need to butt out."

"I'm always right," Duvay said with a smile.

He chuckled. "Yes ma'am."

The radio on the counter clicked to life, and a female voice flew out. "Where is my son? And what the hell is this about a fight? Flat-Top, where are you? I am gonna whoop your ass, when I find you."

Flat-Top let out a miserable moan, burying his face in his hands.

Duvay grabbed the radio off it's charger and spoke into it. "Belle? It's Duvay. Flat-Top's with me."  
"Well, tell him his momma is very disappointed in him. I raised him better! Where are you?"

Flat-Top dropped to his knees in front of her, the towel slipping dangerously low on his hips as he made pleading motions with his hands, mouthing 'please save me'.

Duvay giggled. "As adorable as you look down there, there's no way I'm lying to Belle. I want to survive the day." She pressed the call button on the radio, again. "We're at my station, getting him cleaned up."

He groaned, rolling his eyes so intensely that his entire head, and upper torso followed the movement. "Some friend YOU are."

Duvay knelt down and lifted his chin with her finger. "I'm not here to be your friend. I'm here to be your nurse."

"Hot."

She giggled, standing. "Get up and fix your towel. Your mom's on her way. I'd hate for her to find you on the floor, half-naked and begging."

He chuckled, standing up and heading back to the bathroom to retrieve his clothes and plating. He tugged his pants on in the bathroom, slinging the rest over his shoulder and returning to the kitchen as he buckled his hip plating.

Duvay was sitting on the counter. There was a knock on the door. The brick truck rolled his shoulders, steeling himself in preparation. He moved to the door, and tugged it open.  
Belle stood on the porch, arms crossed and foot tapping. She looked him up and down in sheer disgust and disappointment.  
"Hello, Momma," Flat-Top said sullenly, barely finishing the words before the older sleeper car whipped her arm out and smacked him upside the back of the head.  
"Stupid boy!" she snapped, "Didn't I teach you better than this?"  
Hunching slightly, he rubbed his head where she had hit him. "Momma, that hurt."  
"Damn right, it did!" Belle pushed past him into the station, muttering about stupid men and fighting. She paused her tirade to bestow a warm smile and "Hello, dear" on Duvay, then whipped around and shouted at Flat-Top, "So you beat up some Rocky, did you? Why?"  
"It was my fault," Duvay spoke out.  
Belle looked at her incredulously. "And just how did you cause this?"  
"Well, I, um...Rocky and I broke up, and Flat-Top was just trying to defend me."

Flat-Top nodded quickly, eyes flashing gratitude at Duvay's defense. "He was bad to her, Momma. I had to."

Belle looked back and forth between them, before settling on Duvay. "He was bad to you, hm? What did he do?"  
Duvay withered under the older coach's gaze. "He, um... Well, he hit me. Choked me." She glanced nervously at Flat-Top, before her gaze settled back on the floor. "Drugged me, once or twice."

The brick truck looked like his eyes were gonna pop out of his head, his face was so contorted trying to contain the livid rage boiling beneath. His fists were balled and shaking at his side.  
Belle regarded Duvay wide eyed for a moment before turning back to Flat-Top. "You break any bones, boy?"  
"His or mine?" Flat-Top spoke tightly through his teeth.  
Belle rolled her eyes. "His, dummy."  
Her son nodded curtly. "Felt a couple ribs snap, maybe an arm, his jaw too."  
Belle nodded, pursing her lips. "Shoulda done more."

Duvay folded her arms across her chest. "It's not Rocky's fault. I swear, it really wasn't a big deal."

The look on Belle's face would've scared a thunder cloud.  
"Flat-Top," she snapped, "go take a shower."  
"But, Momma, I already-"  
"Go!"  
Ducking his head, he headed into the bathroom and shut the door, once again succumbing to the painful embrace of persimmon scented soap.  
Belle pulled a chair from the kitchen table over near the counter where Duvay sat. "You're gonna have to explain this to me, girl."

Duvay said nothing, just messed with her hands in her lap. Belle continued to stare at her as muffled swearing drifted from the shower.

Duvay forced a smile and a laugh. "You know, he hates persimmon."

The older sleeper car remained unamused, her face as impassive as a stone wall.

Duvay sighed. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"I want you to tell me why it isn't his fault for beating on you."

"Someone has to keep me in line."

Belle frowned. "You'll have to do better than that, baby." She leaned forward, patting Duvay's knee. "I know you don't wanna talk about this shit, but it's not like you're really telling anyone, anyway. We're both sleepers, both coaches, and who would ever listen to any gossip passed on by an old biddy like me? Won't it feel nice to get the words out? Get it all off your chest?"

Duvay bit back tears. "I loved him."

Belle nodded, "I'm sure you did, sweetie." Watching her expectantly for continuation.

The young sleeper car took a shaky breath. "He hurt me, when I did something wrong, because he wanted me to be better. He did it because he loved me."

Belle was quiet for a moment, tears pricking her eyes. Then she stood, pulling Duvay off the counter into a tight, motherly hug. "Oh, baby...you know that's not right..."

"My parents weren't much better," Duvay whimpered. "Please don't tell me that's not right, Belle. If that's not right, no one's ever loved me."

"Oh, baby girl." Belle held her tight, cradling her head against her shoulder, rocking slightly. "Oh, my poor sweet baby girl. All parents love their babies, yours too. Just sounds like they went about it the wrong way."

"Please..." Duvay whimpered. "My dad almost killed me. I was five." She pulled away. "I deserve it, Belle."

Belle grabbed Duvay and pulled her back into her arms with surprising strength. "None of that. You're a precious, beautiful girl. You deserve nothing but the best."

Duvay relaxed into Belle's embrace, but the little voice in her head was back. " _It's all a lie,_ " it said. " _You deserve it, you've always deserved it, and you deserve way worse._ "

Belle rested her cheek on the top of Duvay's head. She continued petting her hair, hugging her, and cooing loving, motherly encouragement and affirmations.

"Flat-Top's pretty hurt," Duvay said, after a few seconds. "I'm doing my best to take care of him."

Belle nodded, kissing the top of Duvay's head. "Such a good girl."

" _She's lying to you. She's still lying to you._ "  
"Belle?"

"Yes, Duvay?"

"I hear voices."  
She regretted saying it, the moment it left her lips. "I- I mean-" she stammered, trying to regain some semblance of sanity.

Belle pulled back from the hug slightly to get a better look at the young sleeper car, placing her hands on her shoulders. "You mean little voices without a body to belong to, all needley and saying nasty things in your head?

Duvay nodded. No going back, now.

Belle looked at her appraisingly. "What sort of things do they say?"

Duvay wrung her hands and looked around nervously, as if someone might be watching. "They tell me I'm worthless. They tell me I deserve for bad things to happen to me. Sometimes, they tell me to do things."

"Well those first two are bullshit," Belle said with certainty. "From now on, when you hear any of those, you tell me or my boy, and we'll correct the little fuckers."

Duvay laughed faintly. Such language from the old sleeper car!  
"And don't worry," she added, patting Duvay's cheek again. "I won't tell him what's going on. I'll just tell him he has to shower you in honest compliments whenever you ask."

Duvay smiled weakly. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me, baby. It's what mommas do."

The young coach took a deep breath in and out. "I'll take good care of Flat-Top, I promise."  
"Oh, I know you will," Belle said, folding her arms across her chest and raising her eyebrows. "Just tell me one thing."  
Duvay shifted uncomfortably under her disapproving glare. "Of course."  
"Exactly how many times have you and my boy slept together?"  
Duvay's eyes widened and her cheeks turned bright red. "I- Uh, we-"

Belle continued, "You're being careful, aren't you? I don't want any little grandcouplings wheeling around yet."

"Well, you see-"

Belle smirked, lightly clapping both Duvay's cheeks. "You two'd make cute couplings, though. I won't protest too much,"  
Before Duvay could protest, Belle was already on her way out the door, pausing to drop a note for Flat-Top - containing the instructions to shower Duvay in compliments and encouragement - on the kitchen table.  
"Bye bye, sweet girl. You keep my boy as long as you like, it's high time he got out of that damn freight yard."  
And so Belle disappeared out the door, closing it solidly behind her.

Duvay let out a long breath. "Flat-Top, you can come out now," she called. When she didn't receive a reply, nor hear the water turn off, she skated over to the bathroom door and knocked. "Flat-Top?" Still no answer. She opened the door. "Flat-Top. Your mom is gone."

There was still no reply, just running water, and a room full of steam. Something definitely wasn't right. Duvay approached the shower.

"Flat-Top, are you okay?" she asked timidly. When, once again, she didn't receive a reply, she gently pulled back the curtain.

He was splayed in the bottom of the tub, completely unconscious.

"Flat-Top!?" Duvay cried, yanking the curtain back the rest of the way and kneeling down beside the tub. She turned the water off and brushed his hair out of his face. "Flat-Top. Oh, Starlight. Wake up. Please."

His eyes fluttered, and he moaned weakly.

"Oh, Starlight. I'm going to get help. Hang on." Duvay raced back into the kitchen and snatched the radio off it's charger. "Wrench, Belle-... _someone_. Please, help. Flat-Top passed out. Please." She took the radio with her and returned to the bathroom.


	6. Chapter 6

Flat-Top was drifting in and out of consciousness by the time Wrench, Dustin, and two of GB's unnamed goons showed up. Wrench quickly took charge, instructing Duvay to lay some towels out on her bed as Dustin and the goons carried Flat-Top from the tub to the bed. They carefully laid him down, and Wrench began examining him. Duvay couldn't remember a time in her life when she had felt so panicked. She skated into the kitchen, where she held herself up on the counter and stared aimlessly into the sink. About five minutes passed, and the goons left, with Dustin in tow. Five more, and Wrench walked over to Duvay, wiping her hands on a towel.

"Well, to put it simply, he's fine," The repair truck began. "He's pretty fucked up from the fight, but it's nothing dangerous or permanent. A few days, and he'll be functioning again. A few weeks, and he'll be back to his usual...charming...self."

"What happened?" Duvay asked. "Is he awake now?"

"The pain, and the prolonged heat and steam from the shower was too much for him. Probably shouldn't let him stay in that long next time." She glanced back towards the folding divider that separated the corner with Duvay's bed from the rest of the station. "He's awake. Kinda loopy, but awake." She lifted her bag of repair tools onto her shoulder and paused before departing. "If he gets worse, call me."

Duvay skated over and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Hey," she said softly. "Are you feeling okay?"

Flat-Top groaned wordlessly, slowly dragging his hand across his face and through his still soaked hair. Dustin had apparently brought over some of Flat-Top's clothes, and had managed to get a pair of pajama pants on him. Duvay reached out, curling her hand and stroking his cheek with the back of her fingers. Starlight, he looked so helpless.

His eyes opened to mere slits. His voice was low and gravelly. "What happened?"

"You passed out in the shower. Scared the shit out of me."

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, closing his eyes again. "My mother decided drowning me was a good side dish to girl talk."

"Oh, don't be sorry. You just need to rest. I'll get you a blanket. Do you need anything?"

He minutely shook his head, one arm draped across his eyes. Duvay got up and retrieved the blanket from the couch. She carefully draped it over him, then took the corner of one of the towels he was laying on and began drying his hair.

He groaned. An edge of teasing entered his voice. "Mom, plz."

Duvay smirked. "I can't have you dripping all over my pillows, can I?"

"I would wink, but I can't really open my eyes."

Duvay laughed. "I'll pretend." She leaned down and gave him a kiss on his forehead. For the life of her, she couldn't figure out why she just did these things without thinking, but she didn't care, anymore.

"Mmm," he exhaled, eyes still closed, and moved his hand to take hers.

She gently rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb and placed her other hand on his shoulder. "Are you sure you don't need anything? Water? Some medicine?"

"Nah, I'm fine," he insisted, voice slow and tired. "I could tap dance, if this blanket weren't so damn heavy."

"Tap dance?" Duvay laughed.

He nodded heavily. "Sure thing, no problem."

Duvay leaned down and kissed his forehead again. "No tap dancing for you. Just healing. Promise?"

He shifted, grunting softly. "I dunno, I might need more convincing."

Duvay hesitated, knowing she really shouldn't. Then, she kissed him ever so softly on the lips. His mouth formed into a smile against hers, and he gently kissed back.

"Are you convinced, now?"

"Hmmm, I guess, for now." He shifted, settling more comfortably in the bed, groaning slightly as he moved. Duvay clenched her fists in her lap. She really couldn't stand seeing him like this, especially when she felt at least partly responsible.

"Bandages," she whimpered, standing. "I'm an idiot; you need bandages."

He grunted. "Am I bleeding still?"

"N-no. Or maybe a little. I don't know."

He nodded. "Bandages are probably a good idea."

Duvay disappeared into the bathroom, then reappeared with a plethora of bandages. She dumped them in a pile on the bed and went to work choosing and applying the "correct" bandage for each wound.

"You're going to look like a mummy."

The brick truck had sat up so she could work. He chuckled tightly as she wound a bandage around his chest/shoulder, wincing as she pulled it snug.

"I'm sorry..." Duvay nearly whispered.

"It's fine." His voice was strained. "My fault for getting so fucked up."

"No, I mean I'm sorry for all of this."

He looked at her, brow furrowed in pain and confusion. "All what?"

She vaguely gestured to his injuries. "This."

He scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "No matter. I've had a hell of a lot worse."

"It's just that...it's...kinda my fault."

He chuckled, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. "Sweetheart, you didn't ask me to do this. In fact you demanded I didn't and screamed at me about it. It's the opposite of your fault."

"Please. I know you guys. You don't just go fighting your fellow freight trucks." She laughed bitterly. "Try saying that five times fast. The point is, without me, none of this ever would have happened."

He proceeded to spectacularly fail to say "fighting your fellow freight trucks" five times fast.

Duvay laughed brightly and happily. She looked at him and shook her head. "I don't know what to do with you, Flat-Top."

He grinned cheekily, causing his split lip to open up again. "I have an idea or two," he said with a wink.

Duvay wiped the blood off his lips with her thumb. "Oh yeah? Tell me."

"Oh, it's more of a showing type thing, really."

"Oh, really?"

He nodded, still grinning. "For sure. Though unfortunately I'm a bit fucked up at the moment, else I would be more than happy to demonstrate."

She shook her head, still smiling brightly. "Why are we like this?"

"Cause I'm a bag of shit and you're absolutely beautiful."

Duvay looked as if someone had slapped her. She stared at Flat-Top for a moment, before turning to intensely study the quilt.

He groaned, slowly laying down again. "Starlight, I can't remember the last time I hurt this much."

Duvay turned back to look at him, her expression a mask of concern and defeat. "I'm so, so sorry."

He smiled a pained smile, reaching out and patting her leg just above the knee. "Don't worry about it."

She grabbed his hand, again without thinking. She opened her mouth as if she was going to speak, then sighed and looked down.

He looked at her quizzically, "Everything alright?"

She nodded silently and painted a smile on her face. She looked up. "Do you need anything, yet?"

He shook his head, still eyeing her with concern. "I'm fine..."

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You look upset."

She shook her head. "Just worried about you."

He narrowed his eyes. "I'm not buying it, but okay."

She stood up. "You don't deserve any of this. You're a very good guy, and I'm sorry you got tangled up in this. I swear, as soon as you're well, I'll be out of your hair." She turned and skated towards the living area.

He opened his mouth to protest, but she had already moved away. He settled into sullen silence, watching her. Duvay kept herself busy, avoiding looking at the injured brick truck in her bed. By the time she finally did, he had fallen into a deep, but fitful sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

It was late the next morning, when Flat-Top woke to a loud crash and Duvay shouting. "Fuck!"

The sleeper car was in the kitchen attempting to prepare a bowl of cereal. She was wearing an oversized t-shirt, her red hair was tangled, and her makeup from the previous day was smudged all over her face. She had knocked a bowl out of the cabinet, causing the crash.

He sat up quickly, waking with a start. It took him a moment to realize where he was. "You alright?"

"It's too fucking early for this shit," Duvay grumbled. A quick glance at the clock would reveal, however, that it was already 11:30 in the morning. She picked up the bowl that, mercifully, hadn't shattered, filled it with bland cereal and a splash of milk, and began shoveling it into her mouth.

"How're you feeling?" she asked between bites.

He looked her up and down, a slow smile stretching across his face. "A lot better, thanks."

"Why are you smiling at me?" Duvay snapped, trying and failing to run her fingers through her hair.

He laughed, still watching her. "You're all grumpy."

"Yeah, no fucking shit." Duvay got up and dumped her bowl in the sink, not even bothering to rinse it. "Are you a morning person?"

"More than you are." He replied, grin still firmly in place.

"Well fuck you, then." Duvay skated over and sat herself down on the edge of the bed, where a pile of first aid supplies still remained from the night before. "I gotta fix your...fucking...shit."

"If you like." He was smiling so much his face might just crack off.

"I'll slap that grin off your face, if you're not careful," she growled. She began removing Flat-Top's bandages and replacing them, rather roughly and sloppily.

He bit his lip, trying so hard to stop smiling, and failing miserably. He winced as she roughly tied off a bandage.

Duvay yawned widely as she tied off the last bandage. "You want breakfast?"

"No, I'm fine, don't bother yourself on my account."

Duvay snorted. "Please. I'll just call Dinah and have her make you some real food." Again, she tried to run her fingers through her long red hair. She grumbled unintelligibly as she pulled on the tangles.

"So uh," he paused, awkwardly rubbing his shoulder. "Thanks for taking care of me."

"Hm?" Duvay whimpered tiredly. "Oh. Don't mention it." She yawned again. "I'm going to take a shower."

She skated into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. She turned the shower on, then turned back towards the toilet. It had become so routine that she barely even had to try; she just doubled over and emptied the contents of her stomach. She sat on the floor for a few seconds to catch her breath, then got in the shower. Flat-Top gingerly extracted himself from the bed, and looked around. He glanced towards the bathroom, and began tidying up whatever he could around the station. Moving slowly and carefully, he made the bed, tidied the couch and side tables, wiped down the table, and washed the dishes in the sink.

"What are you doing up?" Duvay, now clean and smelling of persimmon, appeared in the bathroom doorway, re-dressed in the same baggy t-shirt, hair in a towel, looking only slightly more awake than she did before.

"Uh, shit. You were supposed to take longer."

"Well, I didn't. Back in bed. And, uh..." He could almost catch a glimpse of a tiny smile trying to make its way onto her face. "Thank you. It was nice of you to help clean up."

He smiled hesitantly, "figured I'd do something to start paying you back."

"Pay me back by resting and getting better," Duvay insisted, approaching.

He shrugged, "I'll have to do better than that."

Duvay crossed her arms. "I'm starting to think you don't want to heal. You just want to stay here forever and have me wait on you hand and foot. This is all an elaborate ruse."

He mirrored her pose, "Hey, I tried to go back to the freight yard. You're the one that insisted I come here."

"And now I'm insisting that you get back in bed." Duvay skated dangerously close, such that she had to look up to meet Flat-Top's eyes.

"Normally I would protest, but I feel like you're about to hit me." And suddenly he was grinning again.

Duvay giggled. "Depends. Are you into that?"

His grin widened. "Take a guess."

Duvay just smiled and backed off. "Now, you can get in bed, or I can put you there."

He laughed. "hot."

Holding up his hands in surrender, he moved towards the bed again. Duvay followed him, as if watching to make sure he actually laid down. In reality, it's because she was drawn to him like a magnet, and she couldn't help it. He sat down on the bed, propped up against the headboard; one leg stretched out, the other bent with his foot flat on the sheets.

The brick truck stretched his arms up and bent them behind his head. "Satisfied?"

"For now." Duvay skated around to the other side and climbed onto the bed herself. "I'd say 'excuse me,' but it's my fucking bed, and I'm tired. Besides, you're not going anywhere, which means I'm not going anywhere. Duvay curled up with her head on a pillow, facing away from Flat-Top. He bit his lip, holding back a smile as he looked at her curled form. Try as he might to deny it; he was falling, and fast.

The brick truck remained propped up against the headboard, watching her sleep, and softly smiling, until he too ended up dozing off.


	8. Chapter 8

It wasn't too long, before Duvay woke with a start. She sat straight up, towel falling off her head. "What year is it?"

Flat-Top jerked awake at her sudden movement, rubbing his left eye with the heel of his hand. "Uh, shit. I don't know."

The sleeper car sleepily got up and skated to the bathroom, returning moments later with a hairbrush. She sat on the end of the bed and began brushing out her tangles. "Ow," she deadpanned, when the brush got stuck.

She turned back to Flat-Top. "You hungry, yet?"

He sat up, running a hand through his hair and yawning. "Nah, I don't eat in the mornings. Makes me sick."

Duvay smiled. "It's a quarter past noon, pumpkin."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah sure, but I just woke up."

"You're such a baby," the coach said, scooting back on the bed towards Flat-Top, still sitting with her back to him. She handed the hairbrush over her shoulder. "Make yourself useful."

"I'M such a baby?" He retorted, scooting closer and taking the hairbrush, carefully working it through her hair. "You're the one throwing cereal bowls and threatening me!"

"Threatening you?" Duvay asked innocently. "Whatever do you mean? And I didn't throw the cereal bowl, I dropped it."

"Smiling isn't a crime, Duvay."

"No, but smiling at me before noon is a good way to get your teeth knocked out. You'll learn these things."

He paused, raising an eyebrow. "Oh will I?"

"But it's after noon, now. So feel free to smile at me all you want." Duvay leaned her head back into Flat-Top's shoulder and smiled herself. "Mm. You're a good hair brusher."

"And you're scary." He gently pushed her head back up so he could continue brushing her hair.

Duvay stayed silent for a minute, before she spoke up, softly. "I'm scary?"

"Hell yeah. I smile and you threaten to punch my face off. Terrifying." He grinned as he continued brushing her hair, even though all the tangles were gone.

"Oh..." Duvay stayed silent after that, letting the brick truck brush her hair. After a few minutes, she told him, "You can stop."

His smile faltered. "Oh, okay." He set the brush down, sitting awkwardly behind her.

The sleeper turned her head, so she could just see him out of the corner of her eye. "Sorry if I've been a bitch, this morning. I really, really hate mornings."

He laughed, leaning back on his hands. "I noticed, don't worry about it."

 _"Please,"_ the little voice in her head said, _"You know you're a bitch. If people just said what they meant, you'd realize that no one loves you."_ Duvay shook her head. "So, what do you want to do, today? I mean, you have to stay here, but-" _"He's only here, because he has no choice."_

He shrugged. "I dunno, what do you usually do?"

Duvay smiled bitterly. "I spent most of my time with Rocky."

Flat-Top laughed. "Same. Different circumstances though."

"Yeah, I should hope," Duvay laughed with him. _"Bet he'd rather be with Rocky, now, than with you."_  
 _"Shut up,"_ Duvay thought, trying to fight back against the voice. It just laughed in her head.

Flat-Top continued, "I always knew he was an asshole - I mean, all us freight trucks are - but I never figured him for the abusive type."

"Me neither," Duvay sighed. "But, then again, I'm starting to think I just didn't recognize abuse when I saw it." _"Silly girl. He wasn't abusive. You deserved what you got."_

 _"Shut UP,"_ she said in her head, again. _"Why are you doing this? Why now?"_

He nodded somberly. "That's how it goes. People always find ways to justify what's happening to them, especially if it's coming from a loved one."

Duvay looked concerned. "How do you know?"

He smiled sadly. "Dustin."

"Oh, Starlight." She felt sick. Sweet Dustin. Of all people, he didn't deserve that. _"But you do. Dustin's innocent. You're not. How is that fair, Duvay?"_ She closed her eyes. This wasn't the first time the voice had gotten so insistent, but it was the first time it had happened in front of anybody.

Flat-Top nodded gloomily. "I helped him through it, and we've talked a lot about it, so I guess you could say I have second hand experience." He looked at her apologetically. "That's part of why I sort of flew off the handle on Rocky. I was mad about you, but also like, how could he do that, when he knows what happened to Dustin?"

 _"Because you're not Dustin,"_ the little voice said. _"You don't matter."_ Duvay covered her mouth with her hand. _"No one cares about you, not even your own parents. You're just a crazy little girl who listens to the voices in her head."_

"Stop," Duvay whispered, barely audible.

Flat-Top continued, having not heard her. "Like, sure he and Dustin aren't _super_ close, but us freight trucks are still like family. We all know each other's business. He knew what Dustin went through, and still he did the exact same thing to you." He paused. "Well, not _exact_ same, but you know."

Duvay barely even heard him. The voice in her head had gotten so loud, it felt like it was taking over. _"Everyone would be better off without you,"_ it said. Duvay shook her head, rocking slightly.

"I just wish I could've stopped him..."

Duvay got up and skated towards the living room area, stopping at the divider. _"No one would miss you. Some people would even be happy you're gone. I bet your little brick truck friend would."_

"That's not true," Duvay whimpered.

Flat-Top looked up, a perplexed frown on his face. "Duvay?"

 _"I know you keep a gun in the bathroom. I know everything about you. You know I'm right, so why don't you just-"_

"SHUT UP!" Duvay fell on the ground, shaking.

"Duvay!" Flat-Top leapt up and rushed to her side, dropping to his knees next to her, but hesitant to touch her. "I'm sorry. Whatever I said that upset you, I'm sorry. I was just trying to sympathize, I swear!"

Most of Duvay's senses were still being drowned out by the voice. She covered her ears, but it was in her head. She screamed.


	9. Chapter 9

Horror flooded Flat-Top, he leapt to his feet and rushed to the counter, fumbling for the radio.

"Wrench!" he cried, voice flush with panic. "Wrench, help! Something's wrong with Duvay!"

Duvay had gone into some sort of trance, repeating the word 'no' over and over. "Get out of my head. Get out."

"What's going on?" Wrench asked.

"I don't know." The brick truck stared at Duvay, terrified. "We were just talking, and then she started screaming. Something about 'get out of my head.' Now, she's on the ground. I don't know what's wrong."

"Flat-Top, listen to me," Wrench began. "She hears voices. They tell her to do things, sometimes. Whatever you do, do not take your eyes off her for one second, do you hear me? I'm on my way. I repeat, do _not_ leave her alone."

"Wh-yeah, o-okay." He put the radio back on its receiver and moved back to Duvay. Dropping to his knees next to her again. He reached out, but hesitated, afraid to touch her. "Hey Duvay, can you hear me?"

"They're in my head. They won't go away." The little sleeper stood up, clinging to the folding screen for support.

He quickly rose to his feet, standing near in case she fell and needed to be caught. "It's alright, they're not real. They can't hurt you."

Duvay backed away slowly, a glazed over look in her eye. "I need to get them out."

"Wh-hey, hang on!" Flat-Top yelped, catching ahold of her wrist so she couldn't bolt. "You don't need to do anything except wait right here for Wrench."

"Let go," she commanded.

"First tell me what you're gonna do," he insisted, apprehension ingrained in his voice. "Duvay, you're scaring me."

"I don't want to be touched," she said softly.

He let go instantly, recoiling as if burned. He spoke softly, full of fear and regret. "I'm sorry. I was just afraid you were going to hurt yourself."

Duvay stared into the void for a few moments. Her expression kept changing, as if she was listening to someone talk. Of course, she was. She started shaking again as something upset her. Disturbingly fast, she then turned on her wheels and made a dash for the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind her.

Flat-Top yelled, angry and terrified. He rushed the door like a bull, slamming his shoulder into it and setting the entire doorframe shaking.  
"Duvay!" he shouted. "Don't you _dare_ hurt yourself!"

It was at that moment that Wrench burst in. "Where is she?"

"In here." Flat-Top gestured to the locked bathroom door.

Wrench dropped her bag, raced to the door, and immediately began picking the lock. "Duvay? Duvay, angel, it's Wrench. You're going to be okay. Just let us in."

"I have to get them out of my head." Duvay's voice was hollow.

"Let me in, sweetie. I can get them-"

The sound of a gunshot and glass shattering.

Wrench froze.

Flat-Top's face broke in complete horror. He found himself momentarily unable to move, and then suddenly, with a roar, he flew against the door with such force that the lock broke. The door crashed open, sending him tumbling into the bathroom.

"Flat-Top!" Wrench shouted in shock, trying to hold him back before he could do any more damage. In the bathroom, they found Duvay, standing, gun pointed at the shattered mirror. She had cuts on her hands from the broken glass, but was otherwise unharmed.

The brick truck froze, chest heaving, staring at her wide eyed. He looked at Wrench helplessly.

Wrench stepped forward, over the broken door, and took the gun out of Duvay's hands, and set it on the counter. "Duvay, can you hear me?"

Duvay turned towards the repair truck. "Wrench?"

"Yes, angel. You had an episode."

"Was it bad?"

Wrench cringed. "Yeah, angel. It was really bad."

Flat-Top was frozen in the wreckage of the doorway. Watching, waiting. Afraid and entirely unsure what to do. Wrench turned and nodded for Flat-Top to help Duvay over the broken door. He quickly reached out, careful not to initiate contact, and wait for her to take his hands. She put her hands in his, wincing as the cuts on her hands stung and carefully stepping over the doorway.

Wrench followed. "Wrap her up in a blanket. I'll get her water."

He nodded, gently leading Duvay to the bed and guiding her to sit down before he grabbed a blanket, and lay it across her shoulders. She was looking much more like herself. That faraway look in her eyes was gone. Now, her eyes just looked tired and red from crying.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," she said pitifully.

He shook his head quickly, sitting on the bed next to her. Close enough that she could reach out and touch him if she wanted, but not close enough that he might accidentally move and touch her. "I'm just glad you aren't hurt."

She smiled. "And that's a Tuesday morning at Duvay's place."

He managed a tight, awkward laugh. "Almost as much fun as Tuesdays in the freight station."

"I, uh...understand if you don't want to stay here, anymore," she told him. Wrench brought her a cup of water, before disappearing into the bathroom again.

Flat-Top shook his head again. "It's my turn to play nurse, now. Gotta make sure you're alright."

Wrench emerged from the bathroom with the gun. "Why do you have this?" she demanded.

Duvay shifted nervously. "I live alone."

"That's why you have a radio. Why do you have a gun?"

When she didn't receive an answer, the repair truck flew off the handle. "Starlight damnit, Duvay, I'm trying to help you! I've been trying to help you since I got here! Who gave you-" She paused, putting her hands on her hips. "Did our armaments truck give you this?"

"Yes, ma'am," the sleeper car whimpered

"He's a dead man. Flat-Top, outside."

He began to protest, but a quelling look from Wrench (along with the gun in her hand) sent him straight for the door. He slipped out onto the porch, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning against the railing. Wrench had followed close behind, shutting the door after her.

She stowed the gun away in her bag. "I told you to be careful with her."

"I was! I didn't do anything!" He insisted heatedly. "We were just talking, and then she freaked out!"

"I didn't tell you that for her sake, I told you that for yours. You want to be her keeper? Be my guest. Try to convince her to take some damn medication. Watch her after she eats; she never keeps anything down. And this? This doesn't happen often, but it's not an isolated incident. Can you handle it?"

He threw up his hands in frustration. "It's not mine to handle, she's been very clear about that!"

"Again, I'm not talking about her!" Wrench's voice softened. "Flat-Top, you're a good guy, and you obviously care about her. Can you handle seeing her like that again? And again after that? You saw yourself how quickly it happens. Can you handle, every time you walk away from her, not knowing if you're ever going to see her again? Because I barely can."

Flat-Top turned away from Wrench, gripping the railing so hard his knuckles were turning white. "Can-...can she get better?"

Wrench sighed. "I don't know."

Flat-Top closed his eyes hard, trying not to cry. "W-we can help her though, right?"

"Of course we can." Wrench laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

The brick truck glanced towards the door. "Should we go back in...?"

Wrench smiled compassionately, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. "You go on back to the freight yard. I'll take care of things here."

Flat Top hesitated, and Wrench made shooing motions. "I'll tell you how she's doing, relax. Go home. Get some rest."

Flat Top departed reluctantly, and Wrench returned inside.

Duvay was still sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over. Her body shook with sobs. She looked up when Wrench walked back in. There was a pause as she tried to steady her breathing, and then she asked, "Are you mad at me?"

Wrench's heart broke for the poor little sleeper, and she moved over to gently sit next to her. "Oh angel, no. I'm not mad, I'm just worried about you."

Duvay bit her lip hard to keep the tears from falling. "Is Flat-Top okay? Did I scare him?"

"He's fine, just worried." Wrench lifted her arm, offering cuddles.

Duvay gladly accepted the offer, wrapping her arms around the repair truck and letting the tears fall again. "Wrench," she sobbed, "I hate them. They scare me so much. I don't know what to do."

The repair truck squeezed Duvay to her side, petting her hair and cooing gently. "I know angel, I know. It'll be alright. You have people who love and care about you, and we're going to do everything we can to help you."

Duvay pulled back slightly, looking at her hand, which was shaking. "I got blood on you."

Wrench smiled encouragingly. "It's fine, that's what happens when you're a repair truck." She momentarily crushed Duvay in her arms before releasing her and standing up. "Let's get you cleaned up, alright, angel?"

Duvay nodded silently and stared at the floor. These episodes always left her in a funk. Thank Starlight they didn't happen often, but that wasn't much consolation, at that moment. Also, she knew they were getting worse.

Wrench left the room momentarily to get water, bandages, and other first aid supplies. She returned and crouched on the floor in front of Duvay, gently taking her cut up hand and treating it.

Duvay had a hard time keeping her hands still, as they were still shaking, so it look a little longer than usual to get them bandaged. "Sorry," she mumbled.

"Don't worry about it, angel." Wrench smiled up at her. "It's quite alright."

She gently tied off them there bandages and straightened, brushing her hands off. "Now that that's taken care of..." she glanced towards the wrecked bathroom. "Why don't you come home with me? We can get some of the trucks to come take care of that mess, and you and I can have a girls night in the meantime."

Duvay shook her head. "I don't want to be any more trouble. I- I can take care of myself."

Wrench rolled her eyes. "Duvay, honey. Come on now. You aren't any trouble and you know it."

Duvay looked at Wrench skeptically. "You can't leave me alone, because you think I'm at risk, don't you?"

Wrench smiled sadly. "I'm gonna be honest with you, angel. Yes; but also we haven't hung out in forever, so why not kill two birds with one stone?"

Duvay nodded gloomily and stood up. She looked down at her pajama shirt, which was now lightly smeared with blood. "I should change," she noted.

Wrench offered a kind smile. "I suppose you should."

Duvay retrieved a slightly nicer pajama from her dresser: Purple pajama pants and a matching tank top. She sighed. "I would change in the bathroom, but I guess that's no use."

Wrench nodded. "Yeah, I wouldn't go back in there till it's all cleaned up."

Duvay shrugged and simply turned around to change. Once she was dressed, she turned back around and forced a smile. "Okay, doctor, I guess I'm ready."

The repair truck smiled sadly at Duvay, wishing she could do more to help. "I'll radio the cleanup crew as soon as we get back to my station." She said, heading towards the door.

"Thanks," Duvay mumbled, following. She took one more look at the mess she'd made before exiting the station.


End file.
